YOU
ARE MY SPRING
Walking
on the Canal today, Bela and I
were
serenaded by dozens of birds.
Bela
stopped twice to cock his head and listen.
I
could not escape their songs.
My
soul leaned toward Spring.
Perhaps
they are back too soon
and
will freeze in the February night.
But
they were there this morning,
trying
out their voices,
making
music that sounded like April,
when
we both were born.
Some
winters, here in the Northeast,
test
the will and Hope, itself.
Others,
like this one,
tease
us with their mildness.
Either
way—Winter Comes.
And
it is the Spring I lean toward, always,
no
matter which winter rolls in.
Today,
walking with a Puli dog,
listening
to the misplaced choruses of birds,
I
realized that I lean toward you
the
way I lean toward Spring.
In
all the Winter-times of my life,
I
lean toward you.
You
are my Spring,
my
Hope, my Love.
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